


Just a little prick

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Being Castiel, Castiel in the Bunker, Crack, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Frenemies, Human Castiel, Innuendo, M/M, Making Out, Midlife Crisis, Netflix and Chill, Pierced Castiel, Piercings, Table Sex, Teasing, crowley being nice, crowstiel, look at their fucking love connection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S11 E3/4 AU - no real spoilers. </p><p>The impetus bestiarum has worn off and left Castiel human and recuperating. He’s kickin’ it in the bunker all alone, and he’s bored... And if Crowley can forgive him for another attempted murder, then...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a little prick

It takes Crowley approximately 0.25 seconds to notice. "What on Your Absentee Father's Green Earth is _that_?"

Castiel narrows his eyes. "If you're going to be like that then I won't invite you again."

  
Rewind ten minutes. It's really just like them. Crowley is minding his own business, plotting against his Unholy Mother, when he receives a text – ‘Bored. Bunker. Netflix and chill?’ Then a string of smiley emoji faces and a mushroom.  
Crowley is pretty damn sure that Cas has no notion of what ‘Netflix and chill’ actually means, but the mushroom is perplexing even for him, so he types ‘Are you offering me hallucinogens?’ and taps ‘send’.  
His phone buzzes instantly. ‘What? (smile, smile, smile, blushing smile)’  
‘What’s the mushroom for?’  
‘I like mushrooms. Also it is a very underutilised emoji (smile, smile, prawn.)’

Crowley doesn’t like to appear over-eager, but angels, even newly-human, recently-bewitched, murderous, recuperating ones don’t get bored and invite demons over for popcorn very often. The Winchesters are kidding themselves if they think he spent so long trussed up in their sex dungeon without working out where their secret clubhouse was located, but he still has to materialise outside the front door. The place is caked in warding against everything under-and-not-under the sun. He kicks around in the undergrowth for a minute until he finds a large stone. Flips it over with one toe and smiles. Key under the flower pot. He frowns and rubs the scuff off the toe of his Oxford with the pad of his thumb. Then his hand closes around the talisman newly stashed beneath the stone and he blinks out of sight once again.

And now here we are, in the TV room of the bunker. Castiel is sitting on the couch, twists around when he hears the quiet noise of Crowley materialising. And Moose has obviously been shopping for him because Cas is wearing black jeans that are just slim-cut enough to be almost fashionable, and a soft steel-blue jersey sweater that really, really brings out the colour of his eyes, and – Crowley makes a noise that’s half choke, half laugh. "What on Your Absentee Father's Green Earth is that?"  
That frown! "If you're going to be like that then I won't invite you again."

“Someone _did_ that to you?”

A nod. One hand goes sneaking up to his right earlobe.

“And they didn't say anything?”

Cas shakes his head. “Say _what_?”

“They just took your money, huh?” Crowley says, in mild disbelief.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “They're paid to do a job, not comment upon fashion choices. Really, having a piece of metal voluntarily shoved through any body part is extremely irrational.”

“Oh I don't know... It can be fun. What was the salon called?”

“Claire's.” Crowley turns a sudden laugh into a cough behind his fist. “I like the name,” Cas says, defensively. Crowley nods. Forces a serious expression. “I like the _earring_ ,” Castiel says. He's got that stubborn look on his face again that makes Crowley feel a bit strange in the ol' tummy.

He smirks, to cover it, trying not to gleefully imagine the expression on the face of whatever horrified teenage shop assistant had to perform this particular inappropriate act upon the creepy middle-aged dude in the trench-coat, and says, “But the million dollar question is, did they give you a lollipop for being a good, brave boy?”

Cas shoots him a look of intense suspicion, then reluctantly grits out, “Yes.” His eyes are narrowed to bright slits. “It was strawberry.” And then, just as quickly, his face relaxes as if in spite of himself into a smile, and that long, elegant hand twists the little steel ring in his earlobe. “I'm getting that this is ridiculous. I’m just not sure why?”

“It's not ridiculous.” Crowley says on reflex, and when did he start caring like that? He grimaces and backs up a little. Tact in this situation is probably the crueller option. “OK, it's fairly ridiculous.”

From his grin, Crowley could swear that Cas looks almost proud of himself. He gives a questioning tilt of the head. Crowley, by way of explanation, continues. “It's like this... You are - _your vessel appears to be_ \- of a certain age and appearance and... it could be construed as something of a...” He grimaces, sighing. “Have you ever heard the term 'midlife crisis' Castiel?” A shake of his head. “It's just a little bit... 'Cool dad'?” Crowley doesn't hope that he'll understand: it's proving to be a surprisingly nuanced concept to explain. It is, to be truthful, a concept that nobody should ever _have_ to explain.

“This vessel was - is - a father,” Cas says softly and Crowley hisses a little breath in between his teeth. Castiel looks at him sort of sympathetically. “But I see that this adornment is somehow inappropriate for my physical presentation. I will remove it. Before Dean sees?” He adds. That earns a smile.

“Oh no. You should definitely show Squirrel before you take it out. He'll think it's really, really _groovy_.”

Cas's smile is at least a hundred watts. He aims a cushion from the couch at Crowley's head and Crowley doesn't even blip away, he just lets it get him in the chest. “So what on earth possessed you anyway? It wasn't an _actual_ possession was it?” Crowley drops down next to him, stealing the TV remote and flashing him a crooked smile.

“No, thank goodness.” That, without a hint of irony. Crowley’s smile softens. He crosses his legs so that right ankle rests on left knee, which ever so accidentally rests against Castiel's thigh. His denim-clad thigh. Crowley forces his focus ahead and flips through the Netflix menu. Castiel doesn't move his leg away. He doesn't even pause in talking. “I just... This vessel. Body. _My body_.” Crowley pulls a face without meaning to and Cas elbows him in the ribs. “Grow up, Crowley. It is what it is. This _is_ my body now, for better or for worse, but it still doesn't feel like...” His hands describe his feelings in the air, really getting into the human gesticulation. “Like I'm truly _inhabiting_ it.”

“You want to put your posters up on your bedroom wall, huh, angel?” He clicks on Hemlock Grove, but keeps the volume low.

Cas flashes him a look at 'angel' but he nods. “I wanted to... Change something.”

“I think you'll find the inevitable process of ageing will change things juuuust dandy.”

“Yes, but I can't wait that long.”

He’s so blithely sincere that Crowley actually rolls his eyes. Even the heaviest sarcasm is lost on this lost cause. "Tell me that again in ten years."

“I will.”

Again with the unhesitating sincerity. They exchange a glance. The tips of Crowley’s ears feel sort of… warm. He clears his throat. “Honestly though, an earring? I suppose we should just be thankful it wasn't a tramp stamp.”

“What's a tramp stamp?”

“Never mind. At least that would have been less visible.”

Cas purses his lips, raises his eyebrows, like he’s seriously considering this wisdom. “Yes. I suppose I could have gotten something hidden. _I'd_ know it was there, and that’s the whole purpose of the exercise. What other piercings do _middle-aged_ men get?”

“They don't.”

“Crowley...”

Crowley, somewhere on the highway between horrified and amused, lets out a not-unhappy sigh. There’s no denying that face. Especially when it’s sleepy-eyed and relaxed, just a few inches from yours. “Well,” Crowley begins, “There's nothing you can't get a piece of metal shoved through, whether it sticks out or not. Ears, tongue, belly button,” He raises an eyebrow, “Cock. Epiglottis. Kidneys…”

“Stop making fun of me.”

Crowley returns his gentle smile. “Pick one. I'll do it for you. Only for pity's sake make it discreet, I'm not being seen with a grown man with an eyebrow piercing.”

“ _You'll_ do it?” He inclines his head against the cushion. The movement brings them a little bit closer still and Crowley is pretty sure there’s a TV show on in the background but he can’t for the death of him remember what it is.

“Sure. Why not. Trust me when I say I've several lifetime’s experience of all manner of poking holes in flesh, and I can make it painless as well as painful.”

“OK.” His smile is far more dazzling than it should be considering Crowley has just essentially offered to put his torturing CV into play. He’s just so damn trusting. “Belly button you said?”

“Cas, _really_?”

“Is that wrong?”

The dismay on his face is just too damn affecting. Crowley shakes his head. “It's a little ‘teen girl celebrating her Class of ’95 Graduation’, but... no, it's not wrong. Anything you want. Come on.”

It's worryingly easy to find a heavy duty upholstery needle and a bottle of awful Bourbon in this dump - in fact, Castiel goes straight to the first aid kit and Crowley hits fool’s gold on his second random cupboard inspection. Those Winchesters and their alcohol problem. He nods at the big wooden table that stands in the middle of the floor behind the couch, pulls a couple of chairs aside. “Hop on. My, my - it's been a while since I've played doctors and nurses.” He waggles his eyebrows but predictably, Cas doesn't seem to get it. “Take your shirt off, there's going to be a lot of blood. Oh, come on,” he chuckles at Castiel’s aghast expression, “I'm joking.”

He takes his shirt off anyway, lying back, lithe and expectant and guileless. “Will it hurt?”

Crowley tries not to look directly at him, because it’s a bit like staring at the sun. If the sun was less of a giant ball of fire four light years away and more of a radiantly lovable earth-bound fuck-up. “Probably. I don't know. Not much? How sensitive is this thing now, since you’re human again and all?” Crowley runs a fingertip along the soft skin of Cas's belly and marvels. There're goose-bumps and subtle muscle flickers and a hitched gasp of surprise and... His eyes stray to the crotch of the angel’s jeans. “Ohhh-kay, then.” He clears his throat. “Yes, it may pinch a tad. Have a swig of this.” Cas takes the proffered bottle and tips a generous slug of it down his throat. _Obedient. Ugh._ He gags and pulls a face, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand. “I know, darling. At least a little prick will be nothing like as unpleasant an experience as that ghastly swill.” Crowley looks at the needle in his hand, “Well, make that quite a big prick. Brace yourself.”

“Have you stuck it in y- _Ouch_!”

The fiddly little ball closure part is the worst bit. Crowley tries hard not to smirk at Cas’s pout. “I did warn you.”

“Is that it?”

Crowley bats Cas’s exploring hand away. “I'm a fast worker.”

“It's sore.” He’s arching his neck up off the table now, craning to see, a big dopey grin on his mush.

“Make sure you disinfect it. Or don't. I'll heal it for you if it goes bad. It looks stupid, by the way.” Crowley adds.

“It looks perfect. But it does sting.” Big blue eyes hold him like a searchlight. “Kiss it better for me..?”  
Crowley's eyebrows raise.  
  
He’s slender but not skinny, toned but not ripped, with tight smooth skin the enviable honey colour of a natural tan. It’s soft as goddamn rose petals beneath Crowley’s lips as he feather-kisses his way down that hairless belly to nudge with his nose at the waistband of Cas’s jeans. He gets one corner of his fly between his teeth and tugs, and Cas lifts his arse off the table and exhales another hitched little breathy noise. Crowley smirks against the rough denim and turns his head to glide his lips reverently across one sculptured hipbone, grazing oh-so-gently with the edge of his teeth. Cas lets out the faintest moan. One hand slips down to tug open the button of his own jeans and Crowley can’t stop smiling. He glances up and Cas is gazing down at him, all eyes. Lips parted. His palms braced against the table either side of Cas’s hips, Crowley rubs his cheek against that flat belly, the feel of soft skin beneath his stubble. Kisses back downwards. Castiel is not wearing underwear. He arches his hips up until his hard-on slips free of his jeans and then Crowley is kissing that too, silky-hot beneath his lips. Fingertips find their way into Crowley’s hair, circling behind his ears, and, “Do you like that, _kitten_?” Castiel whispers. Crowley glances up at him, eyes flashing a brief warning red, but Castiel just chuckles, softly. His fingers keep stroking and Crowley wants to, he _wants to be_ , but he just can't find it in himself to be cross at the kind of moron who waits until he’s utterly defenceless to be completely unafraid of the King of Hell.  
“I never do this.” His breath ghosts across that perfect cock and Cas arches again.  
“You don't have to lie to me. I don’t care.”  
“Mmmnot lying. You're an exception.”  
Damn it all but he _tastes_ sweet. Smells sweet, like washing powder and warm clean skin and… Crowley pushes his nose into the fragrant dark curls at the base of him, edges his jeans a little further down his thighs.  
“Come here. Up here.” Cas’s voice is low but firm. A hand tugs gently at Crowley’s collar.

He stands, reluctantly, bends again to place one last kiss between Castiel’s thighs. “What would my subjects think if they could hear you speaking to me like that?”

“They’re not here.” He lifts his arms above his head, resting against the table, fingers loosely curled, beckoning. “I’m the only one who gets to speak to you like this.”

“Yes, you are.”

Castiel looks smug, there’s no other word for it. Satisfied and pleased and lust-drunk. “I want to see you. Unclothed.”

“Why?” Crowley leans against the edge of the table. Skims a hand up Cas’s side, tracing the lean angles of his ribs. He can’t stop touching him.  And Cas catches Crowley’s exploring hand around the wrist and brings it up to his face. Brushes Crowley’s fingertips against his cheek, against his parted lips, closing his mouth around them, tongue running between them, sucking gently. Crowley exhales long. Shifts his stance. His fingers leave wet spit streaks against Cas’s chin when he lets them go. Cas’s hands pull him closer, close around his belt.

“I find you very attractive.”

“Don’t mince your words, do you, treasure?”

“Of course not. Why would I?”

His mouth tastes every bit as good as his cock. Crowley kisses him slow and deep, or perhaps he kisses Crowley – he can’t tell any more, between lazy tongues and shared breath. Cas’s hands are busy while he’s distracted and when he comes up for air he’s unbuckled and unbuttoned and the angel’s palms are sliding across his chest, down over the curve of his belly, dipping beneath the waistband of his underwear.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I’m learning you on the job.” One hand slips into his underwear, slides the length of him, as the other skims his chest, thumbs a nipple and Crowley’s knees practically buckle. He braces himself against the table edge. Cas’s smile is incendiary.

“Room up there for two?” Crowley pushes his underwear down, bunched up with his trousers; remembers to toe off his shoes before he steps out of his clothes.

“It’s a big table.”

“Unless you’d prefer to relocate to the couch..?”

“Couches are for those who lack imagination,” Cas says, as Crowley settles between his thighs and presses their mouths together again.

 

***

  
Castiel is generally terrible at humaning but somehow, improbably, manages to make the best coffee Crowley has ever tasted. _Instant_ coffee, that tastes like really very decent filter, like some kind of arcane water-into-wine angel trick - Crowley can't think of any other reason it could be so good, can have him smiling into a chipped mug when usually he'd rather drink Holy Water than even sniff a cup of instant. It’s difficult to tell the precise time of day in a kitchen with no windows, but the birdies sure seem to be up and singing perkily to Crowley when a door opens behind him and a familiar voice says, in a tone of perfectly-pitched cartoon outrage, “Who- is that-? _What_ is _he_ doing here?”

Crowley takes a sip of coffee to hide his smirk. Castiel flicks him a glance that can only be described as _fond_ , and then turns his attention to the new arrival and smiles brightly. “Hello Dean. Crowley was keeping me company.”

“He was- no, I’m not hearing this.”

“Dean, don't be too hasty.”  And there’s Moose, sounding wary and perhaps a tad _guilty_? Crowley has never wished harder for something than he wishes he was wearing a robe or a towel or something right now, instead of his usual formal attire, just to hear their voices rise and see their faces fall. In front of him Castiel stifles a yawn, ruffles his already sleep-tousled hair and then chooses that moment to lift his arms in an elegant stretch that rides up the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his belly like a glorious punchline.

Squirrel makes a sound like he’s choking. “And what the crap is _that_..?”  
Crowley buries his nose in his mug and tries, not very hard, to control the laughter-shakes of his shoulders. He places his coffee on the countertop, and he turns around to face the music.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, idek what this is. It’s some little bit of probably error-riddled, cracky smutty fluff that I cranked out in my phone notes at work because I’m having a terrible time of it lately and I need some cheering up and these idiots being happy together helps and it’s really silly and I’m officially trash but tbh weirder things have happened in canon and I had fun writing it so – enjoy?! PS I have never personally experienced Netflix. I am a fraud.


End file.
